


Catharsis

by fineinthemorning



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Catharsis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Multi, Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-22 01:14:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11369484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineinthemorning/pseuds/fineinthemorning
Summary: It's already March and no one has said anything about the passing of one detective prince. Having never found a place for his grief, Akira finally turns to Sojiro to understand the unresolved emotions he has locked away all this time.





	Catharsis

Leblanc was fifteen minutes from closing and empty when Akira walked downstairs to sit at the bar at the stool third from the end nearest the door. It was raining outside, slow but steady and the rain mirrored the mood he’d held most of the afternoon. Morgana had been with Futaba earlier in the day and ended up deciding to stay when the rain had begun. That had been hours ago, and still, the rain hadn’t stopped. In fact, thunder and lightning had grown closer with time and it was such a build up of sounds and thoughts and panic that it made Akira too lonely to remain up in the attic by himself. 

He needed someone. He’d needed someone for a long time now, but  he had never dared to reach out. How could he? With something like this? Who would possibly understand?

“Something up, kid?” The silence had been heavy until Sojiro had broken it due to his quick exhaustion at the boy’s clear attempts to brood in the middle of his restaurant with the silent plea for attention. It was already March, and though the boy had been out of juvenile hall for well over two weeks, he didn’t appear to be making any effort to make up for lost time. He didn’t attempt to meet with his friends outside of school to go out to eat, to the park, or wherever the kids used to hang out. He didn’t invite anyone over to meet here at the cafe. He didn’t even go  into work at any of his prior part time jobs assuming they’d take him back in. Sojiro had noticed. It was impossible not to as it was such a sharp contrast to his behavior before he’d been at the correctional facility. Perhaps something had happened there?

“ . . . ” Akira didn’t respond to the question. He had come down because he did want to talk, but the choice to even make it down the steps had taken so much out of him already. It wasn’t about pride but it had, instead, everything to do with strength. His heart was giving out. His body didn’t move like it used to. His words didn’t come as easily.

Sojiro seemed to understand, because he didn’t snap at him for being rebellious or cocky or not responding to his elder when he was being addressed. Instead, his voice softened just a bit-- enough that only those who knew him well would hear, “I’m here, you know? Let me fix you something I’ve been working on.”

“I don’t want any coffee.” Akira managed more for Sojiro than himself. The words had come forth horse and dry with the hope that he wouldn’t be troubling Sojiro further by forcing him into making something and then having to waste his time cleaning up after and washing dishes; he was already troubling him just by being here--just by worrying him.

Sojiro didn’t catch onto the hidden intentions there, however, and nearly scolded him for being ungrateful more out of habit than anything else, “With that--”

“Thanks . . .” Akira interrupted, and looked up with half-lidded, tired eyes to Sojiro.

Sojiro sighed. That had almost gone quickly sour. “As long as you’re sitting there, let me fix you something.”

“ . . .” Akira said nothing. He realized that Sojiro was mostly doing it for himself at this point. Akira realized that Sojiro thought he could help him by doing something like making him coffee or fixing him a plate of curry. It wouldn’t help, but Akira appreciated his efforts anyway and gave in with his silence. 

And, silence followed as Sojiro went about making some kind of flavored iced coffee he’d heard Ann mention at some point. It was mostly milk, so, it wouldn’t be a hot cup of coffee like Akira had likely been expecting. Whatever. Even if Akira didn’t drink it, at least he’d have a taste tester, and he could claim the whole business as a selfish act rather than a selfless attempt to  ease the boy’s apparent and ridiculously tormented conscious. Something clearly wasn’t adding up. Over what did the boy have to feel guilty about that he’d be concerned over Sojiro making him a simple cup of coffee? He reviewed the boy’s recent behavior in his head again. What else had been different from back then?

_ Oh.  _

“I haven’t seen that kid around,” Sojiro offered as he poured the new bottle of lavender syrup he’d purchased over into a tall glass meant for iced coffee. 

He’d been a little curious. He knew that the guy had been a traitor to their little band of thieves, but beyond that, he wasn’t really given any other details. He hadn’t seen him on TV, either, and, in fact, no one had mentioned him at all-- not even the fact that he was absent. It was like he’d disappeared into thin air.

Akira took in a shuddering breath and released it slowly. He felt pressure behind his eyes that was thundering in his forehead and simultaneously gripping at his heart. It made it hard to breathe. It was only made worse as he reminded himself that he wasn’t sick, so what his body was doing wasn’t necessary. It could be controlled, but Akira felt too helpless to do so. 

He inhaled sharply again. He could never place who was  _ chaos _ and who was  _ order _ . He had spent hours going back and forth in his mind while in the detention center. Despite being so much more free than his counterpart, he still didn’t feel ‘ _ chaos _ ’ fit him quite right-- not with the pain that the other Wild Card had held beneath the surface. Maybe they were both chaos? What a destructive mix.

Akira’s nearly silent reaction was a clear sign to Sojiro that he’d hit the nail on the head. The boy was clearly holding back more than just tears and likely had been for quite some time.

Akira offered the man who was more like a father to him than the one who shared his blood had ever been one final way out, “What about Futaba? Don’t you have to get home to her?”

Sojiro set down the milk and, without putting it back into the fridge, he walked around the counter, up to the door, opened it to flip the sign to read ‘ _ Closed _ ’, shut it, and locked it.

He turned around to face the young male while he stood by the doorway. His arms crossed. He would not leave and Akira would not escape. “I have nowhere else to be.”

Sojiro’s kindness was endless and it hit Akira in full force. He alone, he had been the first person to ask--to say anything about Goro since his name had escaped Sae’s lips Christmas Eve to mention only that he’d gone missing. Makoto hadn’t even told her . . .

The grip around Akira’s heart only grew tighter and he choked out a dry sob, still without tears. Sojiro hesitated going to him, but Akira didn’t notice. He turned back to face the bar and leaned over the counter, crossing his arms and resting his head in them.

Sojiro braced himself for what was to come. He was scared as hell, because he’d never seen Akira in such a state, but he knew what he had to do as his guardian, so he would get through this, and he’d be strong for Akira, too. “You haven’t been yourself, at least since the election.” He stared at the young man’s back as he continued to speak, still only a few steps away, “I took it as being your thievery business. You had enough on you shoulders. You kids are resilient, if anything but--”

“When?” Akira interrupted, his voice so weak, Sojiro nearly questioned that it had come from someone else. 

“Huh?” He didn’t follow. There were too many ‘ _ when _ ’s to answer him with.

The boy turned back to Sojiro, his drained expression making him look years older than he really was. Akira struggled to ask, his body refusing to let him speak in complete sentences any longer, “When  . . . did you realize," he shut his eyes tightly and bit his bottom lip before opening his eyes enough to catch Sojiro’s own, “. . . you loved Wakaba Isshiki?”

Sojiro went immediately silent as his eyes widened. Had he really let his guard down so much in front of the boy? Did Futaba know? Was it that obvious? The silence hung in the air for a little while. Sojiro reviewed the evolution of his feelings as if recalling the plot to a movie he hadn’t watched in years despite it once being his favorite. He walked back around the counter and put away the milk. He found a box beneath the bar and handed Akira tissues. He finished making the iced lavender latte and served it to Akira with a black straw sticking out of the top of the somewhat frothy tan colored and sweet smelling drink. He was stalling.

Akira didn’t touch it. He was waiting. He thought their bond was tougher than this. He realized he was asking Sojiro to address something that had likely been suppressed over the years--a pain that would never quite heal so long as he was following her curry recipe every day and being the father to her daughter. But, Akira had helped him through the scuffle with Futaba’s uncle. He’d spent months with him now as his apprentice, patiently learning his trade and perfecting his skills with the old man’s guidance. They’d shared history, time, and secrets together. Was this somehow going too far?

“I have a feeling you’re not gonna want to hear this,” Sojiro finally said.

“ . . .” It was a night in which Akira’s silence was enough to carry the conversation ever forward while still speaking volumes about his invested interest. No, he wanted to hear this. He needed to hear this. He was sure he already knew the answer, but if it came from Sojiro’s lips then at least one person beyond his own sick self was validating his feelings and what they were doing to him.

“It wasn’t until after her death. It wasn’t until she was gone. When I couldn’t . . . when I couldn’t call her to hear her voice . . . When I couldn’t see her smile . . . When that was taken from me, I realized.” He ended the sentence there, because even Sojiro himself had never admitted his feelings for her aloud--certainly not so directly--not for anyone but Wakaba to hear.

Akira somehow managed to push the iced latte away before his body surrendered and he fell over onto the bar, the counter immediately wet with tears as the dam broke. His head ached and his tears came in a river unhindered by the heaves that shook his body uncontrollably.

For a moment, Sojiro could do nothing but watch. The person at the bar didn’t look like Akira Kurusu. He was acting in such a way that he’d never seen or known Akira Kurusu was capable of. And yet, it was clearly him. He was a child that had been forced to become an adult too soon, and his body hadn’t yet been made strong enough to handle the pain pressed on a heart from adult matters. 

“So that’s it, huh? That kid that used to sit right there in the the stool beside you, second from the end? Akechi? He’s dead?” 

‘ _ And you loved him? _ ’ went unsaid.

Akira’s whole body was weak, his weight slack on the barstool nearly throwing off his balance. He fell inside himself and crumpled into the wood as if he were shrinking smaller and smaller with each tear he wept. The rain continued outside with the thunder now over their heads and surrounding them. He was too distracted to feel relief that it drowned out some of his sobs. 

“Akira--” He didn’t call him ‘ _ kid _ ’.

It was the first time anyone had said it out loud. All this time had passed. So much had happened, but only he-- He was the only Phantom Thief that never came back. 

He was dead.

“Everyone-” he tried to get a hold of himself again, tried to catch his breath so that he could speak coherently, ". . . everyone ignores him.” No, his tense had been wrong. How could they ignore a dead man? He was already dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. “His-- No one has said a word.”

Sojiro knew that wasn’t true. Maybe none of the others had said anything verbally, but there were little signs. For one, none of them touched that seat second from the end. It was as if the damn seat had become sacred. They remembered him likely each in their own way even if the kid had betrayed their group, but, he understood Akira. Oftentimes, grief needed company. 

“What would you want to happen?” Sojiro watched as Akira finally reached for the tissues to try and clean himself up.

The tears were still falling, but the snot and mess had been wiped away. Without thinking, Akira answered honestly, red eyes meeting Sojiro’s patient ones, “I want to bring him back.”

Akira waited while the silence stretched out. He was sure that Sojiro’s response would be something along the lines of: ‘ _ stupid’ _ or ‘ _ immature’ _ or ‘ _ grow up, kid’ _ or-- 

“Normal. That’s normal, kid,” Sojiro supplied.

Akira felt new tears, burn, sting, then fall, hot and wet down his cheeks and onto the counter.

“And, I’m not gonna lie to you. If you--” he stopped himself. No, he wouldn’t question his charge’s feelings like that. If the boy was already comparing his love to what Sojiro may have felt for Wakaba all these years, who was he to say otherwise? He didn’t know the details. He was sure he saw little of what was between them but that had been enough.

He had seen the care in which Akira would brew that particular cup of coffee, the small smiles they’d share when they whispered quietly in the cafe even when that boy had been the only customer, and he saw the way their hands would somehow find their way onto one another and linger just a bit too long-- handing over a spoon, helping with a collar, sharing an umbrella.

“That feeling never goes away.”

Akira was nearly out of tears now. Exhausted, all that spilled forth from his eyes were the leftovers of his defeat. The weight on his heart hadn’t eased, but the throbbing behind his temples had, for now, and, finally, he was finding it a little easier just to  _ breathe _ .

Sojiro continued, “I felt the same way. I think we all feel that way about the dead--even the ones we don’t love. When someone is dead, it’s forever. It’s an absence that will remain a permanent reality.” It was an absence he felt daily, but it was one he had learned to live with.

Again, Akira spoke without thinking, drunk off of the relief that had flooded through him, “Then if I can’t bring him back, I want to join him.” He felt numb to the weight of his own words. He’d thought of such things off and on, especially in his isolation at the detention center, but this was the first time he’d ever verbalized it. Even when he’d been forced into counseling there, he’d lied through most of it. He never mentioned Akechi once. How could he?

Sojiro’s eyes widened slightly, and he moved closer to study the emptiness resting in Akira’s own. The gray had clouded over, the light had gone dark, and Sojiro realized then just how little Akira had allowed himself to grieve. 

Sojiro put his own feelings aside on the matter. It hurt, somehow, to hear his ward say that, but he couldn’t be thinking about his own feelings at a time like this, “You’re too young . . to say things like that and mean ’em.” He wasn’t one for physical contact, but, knowing it would likely have a positive effect on Akira, he put his hand over one of Akira’s own that was resting on the table with a fist full of tissues, “It’s not worth it, kid. You know that . . . he wouldn’t have wanted it that anyway.”

There was a pause before Akira pulled away and replied stubbornly, a tinge of anger in his voice that he didn’t know he was feeling, “But  _ I _ do.” 

Sojiro could tell he honestly meant it, and it felt like a fresh wound burning hot on his skin. “Akira . . .” Sojiro squashed his own feeling of failure. How had he not seen what had become of him? Damn his time in the detention center. Sojiro should have seen this. He should have known. He should have said something earlier rather than watched and done nothing like he had with Futaba. Had he learned nothing? How had he committed the same mistake twice?!

“I’m all he has,” Akira whispered, his anger gone and replaced once more with that hopeless defeat that made his voice sound foreign and strange.

Sojiro took yet another deep breath and released it slowly. He was only good at going with his gut, and his gut told him to just be honest no matter how much it hurt, “He’s dead. The dead have only the memories they’ve left behind that live on in the people that are still alive. You remember him. So do I. I remember him as a regular that respected my skill, that could genuinely relax here, that cared for you . . .”

“It-it’s--” He could breathe fine, but his heart was still gripped in pain. He couldn't speak the words he wanted to say properly. Sojiro had said it twice in the span of ten minutes. That Goro was--

Sojiro interrupted him, deciding it would be better to do so rather than watch him struggle, “You haven’t spoken to the others about him, have you?”

“ . . . ” Akira’s words died on his tongue. No, he hadn’t spoken to  _ anyone _ regarding Akechi. They’d had a glimpse of who he really was at the end, but none of them had  _ learned _ him like Akira had. None of them knew him in the same way he did. And, none of them felt _ responsible _ for him like he did. It was Akira that had failed to act. It was Akira that had failed to understand in time. It was Akira who had failed to  _ save _ him.

Sojiro accepted the silence. He listened as the heart of the storm began to pass and watched the thoughts play through Akira’s empty eyes. “I get it,” he said finally, “To be fair, they haven’t brought him up, either, have they?”

Akira stared at the sweet smelling coffee drink to keep his eyes away from Sojiro’s and shook his head slowly.

“People gravitate to you,” Sojiro’s tone was a touch lighter.

Akira said nothing in response. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. It was still a mystery to him as to why it was true.

Sojiro continued feeling suddenly as though he could read Akira’s thoughts, “They open up to you and are honest with you. You help them in any way you can--even when no one else will.”

He knew where this was going. He’d heard this before, too. The counselor at the detention center had told him something along these lines at the very beginning as if they already knew him only based on his record as a Phantom Thief alone or whatever else they’d read in his file. He’d shrugged it off before, but it felt different coming from Sojiro, or rather, from someone who actually knew him.

“You have to let them help you sometime.”

“ . . .” The same advice. Well, that’s what Akira felt he was doing now. It had taken every amount of strength he had to come downstairs and sit on the bar stool third from the end next to the one that Akechi used to spend hours inside himself in. Akira just looked tired, and his eyes refused to meet Sojiro’s again.

Sojiro noticed, so his tone became sharper, nearly scolding him when he spoke again, “I mean it. I’ll go to them if I don’t hear from Futaba tomorrow that you’ve called them together. They’re your friends. And they, well, that kid lives on in their memories, too, right?”

Akira wiped his face again, but this time, with the back of his sleeve. He felt too tired to continue the conversation any longer, too tired to reach a real solution. He defeated a god and yet he was a prisoner to his own heart.

“I’ll . . . try,” he managed.

A hand was in his hair suddenly and Sojiro rubbed the top of his head to mess it up slightly before Akira smiled and gently pushed it away, “That’s all anyone can ask of you.” Sojiro moved the iced drink in front of Akira again who had since sat up with his elbows on the countertop, “Now, try that iced latte and tell me what you think.”

Akira blinked, relieved that the conversation was over. He’d said so much in a short amount of time, but, more importantly, it had been a first step forward. He’d admitted that he couldn’t go on like this--suffering the loss of someone he didn’t realize he loved until he was gone. He’d also asked for help--something that had always been a challenge in his life. He moved the tall glass that was wet with perspiration closer to him, bent down, and took a long sip from the straw. He let the liquid cool his mouth and the scent settle in his nostrils.

“Lavender?”

“How is it?” Sojiro asked expectantly, his hand on the back of his neck.

Akira stared at the glass and a small smile found its way to his lips, “Gentle.”

“What kind of answer is that?” Sojiro complained.

Akira smiled and messed with his bangs between his index finger and thumb, “Kind?”

“It’s a drink, not a person.” Sojiro’s face twisted in feigned annoyance.

“Right, right.” Akira laughed lightly, meeting Sojiro’s eyes. 

Sojiro’s stern expression broke, and soon, he was laughing, too. The storm had died down to a light trickle of rain into puddles.

“Lavender means ‘ _ devotion _ ’,” Akira said after a beat.

Sojiro smirked, “Yeah, well, it can also mean ‘ _ silence’ _ and ‘ _ distrust’ _ , so don’t test me kid.”

“Y-yes sir.”

They shared a smile.

Sojiro had heard his plea for help, his need for closure, and his request for understanding. Perhaps the others would, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I've been struggling, as many of you have, with many emotions concerning Goro and how his death(?) was handled. I hope that we can all gain a bit of catharsis in the passing of our grief. T-T This was my first attempt at anything for Persona 5, and I was super nervous. Please tell me what you think if you have time~


End file.
